Sea of Doors
by Avrielle Rogue
Summary: Booker chooses to enter a different lighthouse and gets a glimpse of a timeline he'd been searching for.


Booker's heavy boots skidded to a stop, splintering the wooden planks underfoot. Just like they had through the last door, rows of lighthouses spiraled out in all directions like the inside of a seashell.

Elizabeth ran to the edge of the pier and it ceased to be the edge. Planks rose neatly out of the sea, winding a path before her with every step. At each intersection constructed into existence, she stopped and turned toward Booker, awaiting his choice patiently, although it seemed by her expression that it didn't actually matter.

Something about her had changed. She reminded Booker suddenly of a war-hardened soldier, callously resigned to the inevitable fate that lay ahead. The fate everyone knew and accepted but didn't dare put to words.

Booker reluctantly chose a route, and the planks built out a path to the nearest lighthouse. When she met him by the great door, hands clasped politely in front of her, Booker shook his head and took off in the other direction.

His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest. Following intersection after intersection, he frantically built out trails to as many lighthouses as he could, not even understanding why he felt the compulsion. Beads of cold sweat gathered on his forehead, and he stubbornly wiped them away with a sleeve. Elizabeth dutifully followed, but it was clear her patience was waning. Or she didn't have the heart to voice the futility he could feel settling around him, slowly suffocating him.

When Booker had constructed a number of paths, he doubled over and clasped hands on his knees to catch his breath. He focused his thoughts on entering the lighthouse to his left, screaming the decision internally. Then he darted right and blasted through the lighthouse door.

The cool air hit him first. Fresh and crisp, not the heavy, humid atmosphere of the American midwest. Greenery was now underfoot - a park. A café snuggled between sparse trees not too far from where Booker stood blinking. The bustling din of voices melded together in the busy afternoon sun, but it didn't seem to be English they were speaking.

That's when he saw them. A tiny blur of blue and white running toward them from the café, dragging her lumbering companion along behind her. When they passed without a glance, Booker spun around and saw where they were running.

Tears stung his eyes as he took in the sight of the Eiffel Tower rising up before them. The other Elizabeth's laughter rang in his ears like the most beautiful music he had ever heard. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, and he turned to share the moment with his own Elizabeth, standing silently next to him, hands still clasped in front of her. His smile faded.

With a tight tug of panic in his heart, Booker started after them, but Elizabeth reached out a hand to stop him, pulling the opposite direction; the tableau a melancholy reflection of the cheery duo getting farther and farther away.

"No!" Booker strained against Elizabeth's grip. "We've made it! We're here. I... I finally got you here."

"It's time to go, Booker."

Tears streaked down his face and he gulped hard. When he wiped his nose with the back of his bandaged hand, it came away stained with blood. A throbbing in his head made his vision blur. Getting Elizabeth here had been all he could think about. Why did it feel so wrong?

"We don't belong here," Elizabeth continued. She lowered her eyes to the ground. "_They_ don't belong here, either."

Booker tried to escape her grasp, but the Siphon's destruction had changed so much. Now she was the strong one. A tear appeared behind them, and Elizabeth pulled him towards it. He dug his heels in the ground, but was no use. Stumbling after her, he dropped weakly to his knees.

"I need to see you happy here!" His voice cracked. "I made you a promise. Elizabeth...please."

She turned away from the tear, relaxing her grip but not letting go.

"I'm sorry, Booker. We have… other things to do."

The tear opened all around them. The grass beneath was replaced with hazy, green waters of a balmy creek in South Dakota. The hymn that rose from the lips of the circled parishioners raised goosebumps on Booker's skin. He'd been here once before.


End file.
